The President Is Missing

by Bill Clinton

who interfered with stopping terrorists?” Gerald Ford once said that an impeachable offense is whatever a majority of the House of Representatives says it is. “That’s not up to me,” I say.

“Lester,” I say, “do you know why I never talk about that? What happened to me in Iraq?” “I don’t,” he says. “Modesty, I suppose.” I shake my head. “No one in this town is modest. No, the reason I don’t talk about that is that some things are more important than politics. Most rank-and-file congressmen never need to learn that lesson. But in order for the government to function, and for the good of the country, the Speaker of the House does. The sooner the better.”

Lester holds his stare for as long as he can. Then his gaze drops down to the floor. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and rocks on his heels. “Then tell me,” he says. “Not Intelligence. Not the Gang of Eight. Me. If it’s as important as you say, tell me what it is.” Lester Rhodes is the absolute last person to whom I would give all the details. But I can’t let him know I think that. “I can’t. Lester, I can’t. I’m asking you to trust me.” There was a time when that statement, from a president to a House Speaker, would be enough. Those days are long in the rearview mirror. “I can’t agree to that, Mr. President.” An interesting word choice—can’t, not won’t. Lester is under so much pressure from his caucus, especially the fire-breathers who react to every sound bite on social media and talk radio, ginning up this whole thing.

So Rhodes will go to his corner, leading a charge he can’t really control because his caucus twitches at each tweet. Some days, my side isn’t much better. Participation in our democracy seems to be driven by the instant-gratification worlds of Twitter, Snapchat, Facebook, and the twenty-four-hour news cycle. We’re using modern technology to revert to primitive kinds of human relations. The media knows what sells—conflict and division. It’s also quick and easy. All too often anger works better than answers; resentment better than reason; emotion trumps evidence. A sanctimonious, sneering one-liner, no matter how bogus, is seen as straight talk, while a calm, well-argued response is seen as canned and phony. It reminds me of the old political joke: Why do you take such an instant dislike to people? It saves a lot of time.

“Call me Margaret—everyone else does,” she says. “Can I call you Jon?” “Margaret,” I say to a woman who’s just lost her nineteen-year-old son, “you can call me anything you want.”

“Better than you’re going to feel,” she says, “if you ask me that again.” Don’t mess with a woman in her first trimester of pregnancy, with morning sickness that isn’t limited, apparently, to the morning. Especially one who specializes in high-risk assassinations. She turns

Internet now can only be performed with the Internet. There is no fallback. Not anymore. And you are correct—the world will not collapse if we cannot ask our smartphones what the capital of Indonesia is. The world will not collapse if our microwave ovens stop heating up our breakfast burritos or if our DVRs stop working.”